The Adriatic roadtrip

After spending a day in the incredible shrinking city being smothered by the incredible growing number of tourists, we decided to rent a car and go for a drive down the southern Croatian coast into the country of Montenegro. The destination was the Bay of Kotor, an allegedly dazzling snake-like body of water surrounded by mountains on three sides. It was the southernmost fjord in Europe, said our guidebook, and it ended with the city of Kotor, a smaller and less touristy version of the walled city of Dubrovnik. And it didn’t disappoint.
It was a tortuous two-hour drive along the narrow strip of flat land between the mountains that give Montenegro its name and the Adriatic, but it was fantastic. I’m a natural beauty type of guy and aside from the snowcapped Swiss Alps, this was the most beautiful landscape I’d ever seen. Sure I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon or the Yangtzee Valley or Nepal. But I’ve been to Alaska and the Sahara and the Caribbean, and this, by far, was better.

After a coffee and a walk around Kotor (which was cute, but, eh), we were back on the road going south along the coast of this country, which had just gained its independence from Serbia 15 months prior.

The vistas never stopped.
Eventually, we got to the town of Sveti Stefan (St. Steve), a small dot of land at the end of a sandy causeway that just sticks out perfectly into the Adriatic. Almost every map or guidebook of Montenegro had a picture of Sveti Stefan on the cover. So, we had to check it out.
Unfortunately, some businessman just purchased the entire town and closed it to tourists because of renovations. Disheartened but not despondent, we got some gas and found a shady spot near this outlook to eat our leftover pizza from the night before.
Here we made a plan to take the indirect route back – through Bosnia. Why? Well, it wasn’t completely out of the way (according to our map, which we later found out has a hard time showing altitude). It was a different country, offering slightly different food, culture, architecture, language, script (Cyrillic), etc. It presented an alternative to the heavily trafficked route back into southern Croatia. And, to be honest, it was exciting.

Unlike Croatia, Bosnia still conjures up images of bombs, war, and poverty. Was it that different from Croatia? No. But NATO and the U.S. military had made a bigger stink of the atrocities there than in Croatia because of the “ethnic cleansing” that occurred. See, it’s OK for Christian folk to bomb other Christian folk, but as soon as the Christian folk start beating up the Muslim Bosniak folk, well, then we gotta step in.

So, Bosnia it was. Although only a couple kilometers away as the bird flies, as the car drives it took us almost 1.5 hours to enter this, my 23rd European country. But, although the steep mountainous inclines and the rocky, twiggy, potholed roads made driving difficult, it made the views fantastic.
Once we got far enough away from the water, it was obvious that there, indeed, wasn’t a lot of money in these parts. To be sure, I even questioned the word “town” when we passed by some of the Montenegrin hamlets along the way.

But after a mountainous one-hour drive on one-lane roads around steep, hairpin turns, we were in Bosnia. It was sunset and we were in the southern lake district of this wartorn country, driving through the rocky mountains to the town of small town of Trebina, which had a old bridge and Disney-esque church.

We didn’t want to do much in Bosnia, just get some money (Marakas), spend it on drinks (fanta and coffee), do a little shopping, and get the hell out. And that we did. It wasn’t that much different than Croatia or Montenegro. In fact, we all thought the roads were of better quality. Not what you’d expect, huh?
The next day we went to the leper island of Lokrum, just a 10-minute ferry ride from Dubrovnik to take dips in the beautiful Adriatic and to watch dummies jump of sheer cliffs. The island itself was pleasant, filled with tourists, ice cream stands, and peacocks.
The water was warm, the rocks were flat, and, heck, I had a great time doing absolutely nothing (except breaking my flipflop and then walking around for the rest of the afternoon shoeless). It was, in my opinion, the best way to end a busy, busy trip.

Dubrovnik

Dubrovnik.

After a hectic early morning check-in process at Stuttgart, we landed in Dubrovnik, exchanged our money, got on the 15-minute bus ride to the old city walls, and were ready to explore. My first thought upon landing in this, my 22nd European country, was, of course, food. Who am I kidding? It’s always food. But my next thought was how green the countryside was compared to Greece. Sure, it was still dry – especially after this July, which was the hottest and driest on record for most of southeastern Europe – and sure large swaths of the nearby hillsides had completely burned in uncontrolled forest fires just the month prior. But, compared to Greece, it was green. It had trees (tall cypress to be exact…very reminiscent of Tuscany). It had bushes. And it had clouds, something we’d rarely seen the previous week.

After dropping off our bags and entering the old town, our first stop was a walk around the city wall. The old town of Dubrovnik, you see, was an old Slav and/or Venetian fortress (depends on who you ask) and needed to be protected from pirates, barbarians, and other vile sea parasites like the Spanish. (This is a shot taken from a jetty near the port).
Only recently did Kate’s father’s family (the Gargureviches) discover their ties to this historically Slavic city, home to many other Viches as we found out. (Interesting fact: The Republic of Dubrovnik was the first state to recognize the United States of America as a sovereign state. And since the Gargureviches were living in Dubrovnik at the time, I’m sure they’d be happy to know that their family lives on in this new land).
Anyway, all this is to say that one of the reasons we were there was to find out who we could talk to to learn more about the Gargurevich name.

But first, we had to be tourists.

The city is teeny tiny, about the size of a regular city block. But its slippery marble roads and alleys – untouched by cars (which couldn’t even fit through the gate if they wanted to) – along with the picturesque rickety old-world buildings made the city one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

Not to mention the perfectly clear blue-green water surrounding the peninsula on which the city sits. Nor the numerous green islands, all with breathtaking rocky cliffs that have for centuries tempted brave and stupid men alike to jump into the sparkling waters below.

My favorite, though, were the buildings. The best way I can describe them is to have you picture a place like Pier 1 or Ethan Allen. Popular for some years now are the new but antique-looking products like clocks and 1920s advertisement wall hangings, which come pre-scuffed, weathered, or worn. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, ask a woman. She’ll know. Anyway, these buildings all had that old, weathered, scuffed, dented, and poorly repaired look – and I thought they were gorgeous.
Especially at nightfall.
Was it all a show for tourists? Perhaps. Although they did just get bombed less than 15 years ago, when they were still a poor Yugoslavian country reeling from the capitulation of communism!
Anyway, we didn’t do much this day but walk around the old town, take lots of photos, relax on the city beach, and eat. In keeping with his food-from-the-sea ritual, Antonio had the mussels and said he very much enjoyed them. Yum. Later that night it was gigantic pizzas from a place called Mea Culpa! Double yum.

Athens

Here we were in Athens, the center of culture, and I still couldn't contain myself.

After seven days of relative solitude and cheap, homegrown cuisine, we were once again in the real world. Noisy buses and cars, malodorous factories, Chinese restaurants, Athens is a big city in a small country. But, almost 3,000 years ago, it was even bigger – proportionally … and in terms of influence. After all, it was the center for arts, learning and philosophy, home of Plato's Academy and Aristotle's Lyceum, and the birthplace of Socrates, Pericles, Sophocles, and, not least of all, democracy.

Our first stop was the Temple of Zeus and Hadrian’s Arch, two famous ruins dating back to Roman times – about 500 years after the Hellenic period. That may not seem like a lot, especially considering the similarities of the Roman and Greek cultures, but the difference is huge. It’s the difference in years between Columbo and Columbus. Anyway, these ruins were just that – ruins. And unless a person possesses an inordinate amount of knowledge or interest in archeology or classical cultures, it’s pretty lame. But see them we did. Here are some photos to prove it.
From there we walked around and up the side of the Acropolis, the rock in the center of the city upon which the Parthenon (and some other, lesser known temples) sits, past a couple well- and semi-well preserved amphitheaters, and past this dog, one of many strays in Athens.
Nearby, we found a great view of the city.

From here, thanks to my ignoble leadership, we got lost in what we thought was the shady Greek Agora, the old marketplace where Socrates “corrupted” Greek youths into questioning authority. We sat here, in what we erroneously thought was the Agora for a couple minutes, contemplating old toga’d hippies walking around the woods, telling people to tune in, turn on, and drop out (or whatever it is they said back then), until Kate stole the map from me and realized we were WAY off. WAY off.
So, our shady reprieve ended and we marched through the sunny Greek and Roman Agoras. Yes, when the Romans came, they set up a marketplace too, completely separate from the old and destroyed Greek one (again, 500-year difference).

The Greek Agora was almost completely worthless, save for two things: This Temple to Herakles…
And this museum, with a replica of what the Greek shopping mall looked like 2,500 years ago.
The Roman Agora was also in ruins, despite being 500 years newer. But it did have this interesting site: the Tower of the Winds, the only recognized shrine to the gods of wind, who apparently brought with them a variety of good and bad weather, including rain, drought, and the hot sirocco winds from Africa. Here’s Kate posing outside her favorite: The God of Breaking Wind. Time passed quickly in Athens. But as afternoon turned into early evening and the hordes of cruiseship tourists made their way back to their boats, we knew it was about time for the main event: The Parthenon.
Although it was in relatively good condition until the mid 1600s, when an errant Austrian bomb ignited the building, which had become the weapons arsenal under Turkish rule, the Parthenon today is in ruins. The scaffolding and cranes inside the building didn’t distract TOO much from the beauty of it. But, to me, there wasn’t much beauty to begin with. (Aside from that handsome face in front of it, that is).
The thing about the Parthenon is that its simplicity is deceiving. It probably took ancient Greek mathematicians and architects years to plan the building, a temple to Athena, the resident goddess of the city, who allegedly fought Pericles on top of the Acropolis on which the building now sits. Why? Because the columns are fatter on top than they are at the bottom, giving the illusion of a strong foundation based on equal weight distribution. Also, the columns tip inward at about a 1 percent grade, so that if you continued them they’d eventually form a pyramid. This inward tip apparently gives the illusion of symmetry.

Don’t ask me. To me this building looked like an old, bombed out bank. Sure, it was the first to look like a bank. But, eh, I was more impressed of the views of the city you could get from up there. After getting our picture-taking fill, we went back to the hotel for a rest before going out to dinner. Our hotel was budget-minded, but thankfully in a good area – right outside the Plaka, the traditional top tourist destination (or tourist trap) in Athens, famous for its numerous pedestrian-only streets, shops, and tavernas featuring traditional music.

That night we walked around the Plaka a little, which intermittently offered spectacular views of the Acropolis, and settled on an outdoor table at an overpriced gyros restaurant. Here’s a nighttime shot of the Acropolis, btw.
Dinner was fine, but Kate, Kathryn, and Antonio were more interested in the street peddlers who saw us as easy targets. Antonio didn’t like their repeated solicitations of glowy bouncy balls or cheap flashlights and was irritated when they’d stop by our table. Kate was seemingly entranced by how well one of the street peddlers was doing, giving us a minute-by-minute update on how many fake designer bags one illegal African immigrant had sold. And Kathryn was interested in finding out how much that illegal African immigrant was selling the Burberry bag for.

The next morning we didn’t have much time before leaving to catch our flight, but we managed make our way past the parliament to see these skirted guards, who represent the “tallest and handsomest” Greek soldiers. To me they were nothing special, even with their awesomely goofy shoes.
Our final stop before calling it quits was the Cycladic museum, host to numerous pre-Hellenic archeological finds from the islands we’d just visited. I only stayed for an hour because the Internet café by the McDonalds down the street called my name, but I was told by Kate that it was “neat.”

And that’s it for our trip to Greece. A whirlwind tour of the history of the beginnings of our Western World. Next on our agenda was whirlwind tour of the history of the beginnings of the Gargurevich name – Dubovnik, Croatia.